Your Red Always (5 page)

So, I must have done something to insult him at the coffee shop, or now. Maybe it’s because I didn’t call. Perhaps he knows I’ve been cyberstalking him. Or he just likes to mess with my head. If anything, he’s the one who has been giving out mixed signals.

I stiffen on the spot. He looks at me with a confused movement flashing within his pupils. 

“Miss Lovell, if you’ll excuse me.” He leaves me stood, humiliated.

Well, that went well
.

I’m so furious. I resent myself for feeling this way about a man who clearly has sociopathic tendencies. I seem to amuse him. Well not anymore, because I’m getting the hell out of here. 

I push my way through to the bar, and order a large glass of wine. Nathan tugs my arm as I pour the whole glass down my neck. This hellish day needs to be shaken off. I pull Nathan to the doors. The lower level is more suited to my needs right now.

                                                              ***

I dance with Nathan. We take over the floor like old times. He shall have all my attention for the rest of the night. So screw you Mr Knight.

“Do you know Nath… I’m havin the bestest time.”

“Liz, you’re smashed.”

“Kiss meee… sorry… oops I got to go to… to the bathroom.”

I need this wall. This nice wall will take me to my destination.
Nearly there Liz, you can stick you head under the cold faucet, and wake yourself up.

I’m forced to stop. It’s a hand around my bicep. I’m not going to have anybody grabbing me tonight. I twist in a blurry rage, and oops, land right into someone’s chest. It’s blue, and it smells delightful. I inhale and stay for a while.
Oh shit! It’s blue. Black belt and trousers
. I jolt back, and there he is. All two of him, weaving in and out of each other. 

“Mr-Mr-Mr Knight.”

“You need to sit down before you fall down Elizabeth….You’re making a fool of yourself.”

Did he just call you a fool Liz?
I scowl at him. It is my, don’t push it expression. A warning that I may Hulk out any second.   

I point on his firm fine chest, hard.  “I is no fool… you see that man I’m with… well he’s a real man… none of this cloak and dagger crap you like to pull. Real he is!”

“That man right there.” He points.

I follow his hazy finger, before I wipe the smug look off his beautiful chops. I squint and sway in fury. I told him in my sober state. We agreed tonight was for us only. I’ve been blown off for slutty Sara again. She’s there, shimmying her fat ass around him. 

I slam my back against the wall, and slide to the floor. I’m a hopelessly messed up drunk, and I’m playing it all out for Mr Knight to see. I peer up. He’s stood, holding his blurry hand out to me. His eyes, all four of them, are offended I’d do such a thing as to insult him. But he’s still being polite about it.

My vision spirals downhill fast, as if I’m on a speeding merry-go-round.
Focus Liz, you know the trick. Simply use one eye, and you should be able to see. 

“You can leave me now. I really… really would like you to leave me.” I bang my head into my knees.

“Get up Elizabeth!” 

He’s ever so bossy. I laugh, a tittering laugh at his expense. I like laughing at him. I guess it’s better than hitting him. 

“What’s so funny to you, because from where I’m standing, I’m not the one who looks ridiculous here?” He grumbles as I chuckle uncontrollably. “Elizabeth!”

“Okidoki, keep your pert pants on Mr Rich… you have very nice eyes.”
This ought to work Liz. He won’t be able to resist a bite of the lip
. “You can kiss me.” I hiccup, and very nearly vomit. 

I rest my head on my knees again. I hear fabric brushing down the wall. I turn to my side to see the most influential man in the city right now beside me, with his shiny Armani shoes crossed. Mr Rich is sat outside the ladies bathroom, on the floor of a nightclub, bearing nothing but concern for little drunken me. 

He’s so close to me, hip to hip.
Liz please sober up, you need to remember everything about this
.

“Sorry,” I cringe. “I’m a complete mess.”

He slopes his head to see me. I’m not blushing, or nervous. I really love his eyes, I’m losing myself in them. He has power over me.

“You feel the need to self-destruct. I think everyone has the right to the odd lapse in sanity.” His observation on me intensifies. “Next time you should steer clear of the alcohol.”

I want to kiss him, I really do. To lean across and get what I need. But in this state, he’ll probably just think me pathetic. I am very stupid tonight. And irresponsibly randy. Drunken sex is not a great idea. 

“Well… I don’t cope well with stress,” I utter.

Yes, I’m stressed drunk, because of you Mr Knight. The fact that you’ve scrambled my brain. Not to mention I’m now jobless, penniless, and desperately trying not to puke on you.

“If I have in any way hurt your feelings, I apologise Elizabeth.”
Holy hell. Did he just read my mind?
“When I have a desire for something, I will always ruin it… I should refrain myself.” 

Please do not spoil this by spewing. Hold it in. He’s giving me something here. Did he actually admit he desires me?

I hiccup. “Ruin what exactly?”

He turns to me, his eyes motionless. “My reputation.”

Oh, okay, that wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “Right, I’m going to…” 

I shuffle up the wall. The screeching in my head deafens me. I need to… to lay down. 

Whoa… Jeez, I can’t move my head.
Bang. Boom. Whoosh
. There’s a freaking jackhammer trying to break out of my skull. I lick my dry cracked lips. My mouth feels like it’s full of sand and hasn’t seen moisture for years. I moan loud, unable to open my heavy eyelids. Every movement causes a bolt like lightning to strike my temples. With a huff, I aim to roll over, but fail miserably. Slowly, I lift my hand and place it over my face.
It’s now or never Liz, there’s no sympathy for self-inflicted hangovers.

Gradually, I prize one lid open.
Where the hell?
I spring up with a shooting spasm zipping over the crown of my head. I adjust focus, frowning with every blink. I’m in a spacious room with light grey walls, and glossy black furnishings. Far to my left is a great wall of blackout glass, one end to the other. The sheets I’m laying on are soft white Egyptian cotton, with sumptuously plump pillows.
Liz, what the hell did you do?

I shuffle to the edge of the firm mattress. Next to me, on a black bedside table, is a glass of water, and a sachet of Alka-Seltzer beneath an ornate cream lamp. I panic. My heart is in my throat right now, wondering what drunken mistake I made. I’m still dressed, tights intact, no ladders or tears, minus my boots. So that’s kind of a good sign I tell myself. 

My eyes search the room for my handbag. I should call Cate. Inform her I’m alive and okay. That is apart from not having the foggiest how I got here, or where I am. 

Oh no. Flashback. Me and one suave Mr Knight
. Holy crap Liz. You asked him to kiss you
. I shudder and reminisce. I’m such a grade-A idiot.

“Bag… where’s my damn bag?” I quash a shamefaced tear.

I stand on the black marble floor. The humming in my head grows more pronounce as I straighten up.

“Hell,” I utter, creeping around the daunting room.

I crouch to look under the bed, moaning through the pain. It’s so clean. Not a speck of dust. So my host, which I’ve now gathered is Mr Knight, is a clean-freak. 

I plod stealth like across the cool marble. I need my phone. I don’t want to leave this room without the ability to call for help if I need to.

I spot my jacket. It’s hung over a large chest at the foot of the bed. For a moment, I stare at the bizarre box. It doesn’t belong in this room. It’s old, real old, with worn Celtic carvings. It belongs in some great hall or castle somewhere. I’ll just have a sneaky peek, no harm in that. I pull the lid, but it’s locked.

Stop being nosy Liz; you need to get out of this place. If Knight sees you in this state, you’re never going to live it down.

There are two doors in the room. One several feet from the queen size black panel bed, and one on the wall opposite. I pick the one closest, near the bed. I wrap my hand around the gold nob and twist. It opens into another vast room, slightly smaller than the bedroom. Again an all marble floor, with wall-to-wall darkened windows looking out over the city. Dead set in the centre of the room, is a deep luxurious porcelain roll-top bathtub. And against a mirrored wall, two floating sinks with waterfall faucets. 

Wow. This place is kind of astounding. But never mind how amazing it is, how do I actually get out of here? 

I quietly skulk back into the bedroom, and try door number two. Now, I’m stood in a walk in emerald-green, mosaic wet room, with an oval gold showerhead, protruding from the wall before me.

I move back to the bed, lost and confused. There’s a steel modern fire built into the wall, with white pebbles, and blue tinted flames. I stare as it flickers, willing my brain to work.
Come on Liz, you must remember
. I blow out, and chatter my teeth, developing unease. A room with no way out. Huge as it is, it’s making me claustrophobic. 

There’s a knock, and it doesn’t come from any of the doors. I focus on the direction of the sound. It came from a wall panel. A section clicks and opens. I take a step back, clutching my jacket tight into my body.

“Miss Lovell.” 

Shit. Is there anywhere I can go where I will not bump into slutty Sara? Is she like his slave or something? 

“Will you follow me?” She sidesteps through the secret door.

This is beyond weird. Hidden doors, reappearing Sara, and the fact I’ve been brought here by Mr Knight, and cannot remember a thing. I’m freaking scared… but also intrigued.

A sickly hunger and thirst makes me dizzy. My stomach lining is on fire, and I know I must look like I’ve just crawled through the depths of hell. I need water, and fast. I grab the glass from the bedside table. First I sniff it. Water doesn’t have a smell, and this doesn’t. I drink. Of course my senses finally come into play, and I don’t add the remedy. It could be a disguised date-rape drug or something. 

Go Liz. Put down your foot for once. Who cares what you look like? Being kidnapped is a criminal offense.
I run my fingers through my grubby hair, as I stagger through the panel, apprehensively.

I watch my feet move across floor. I lift my head and my eyes fall onto an enormous open-plan living area. To my left, there’s a kitchen with green granite worktops, white handless cupboards, and a circular island in the centre. Everything about it screams unused. It’s pristine. No kettle, no toaster, or coffeemaker in sight. To my right, there’s a large oval glass dining table, that’s surrounded by twelve cream leather high-back chairs.

This is crazy. It’s like I’m appearing in an episode of Cribs here. It’s lavish and fine, somewhere I don’t belong. 

I duck my head to look further into the apartment. There’s a lounge area, with a massive grey u-shaped sofa, which is situated around a modern white central fire and extractor. I notice only one picture hung on the walls. It’s a white canvass with a smear of scarlet across it. It’s one of those abstract artworks, which equals to me, ridiculously expensive, and nonsensical. I’m more an oil painting kind of girl myself. Other than that, I see no personal touches in the place at all.

I’m intimidated. This is way too opulent for the likes of me. I remain still. Should I move; look for a way out before Mr Knight swaggers around that corner, looking all hot, turning me to slush?

I spin back to the bedroom, head tenderising, and heart skipping beats. Now where’s the front door? That could be it next to the bedroom. But I can’t go yet. I still haven’t found my phone.

Sara strolls by the central fire. Is he behind her? I fluster, with my eyes on my fidgeting hands. She’s wearing a pinstripe navy skirt, with a fitted jacket over a black ruffle shirt. Her blonde hair is pulled back tight into a neat bun. Her white six inch heels, demoralizingly clop closer to me. I look like I’ve just rose from the morgue, and feel beyond stupid standing here. 

She flaunts by the kitchen worktop, holding a Filofax. I stay very still, inanely looking up, hugging my jacket like a comfort blanket. I chew on my cheek and sigh. She pulls open the door of an immense black double fridge.

“Where’s my bag?” My tone unsettles.

“Here.” She clops toward me, holding out a small bottle of green liquid.

I reluctantly take it and glower. What is this strange substance; what am I supposed to do with it? It looks alcoholic. Does she think I require a hair of the dog? Because the thought of anymore alcohol nauseates me. In fact, after this catastrophe, I shouldn’t be allowed to drink ever again.

“Mr Knight is dealing with a client; he will see you soon.” She take the Filofax under her arm, and disappears into the bedroom.

“Oh shit,” I mutter faintly.

Sara returns within seconds, holding out a bale of white towels, and two tubes. One shampoo, and the other conditioner. Oh my god. I’ve seen this stuff in one of Cate’s hair magazines: Phillip B’s Russian Imperial. One wash with that stuff is the equivalent to a day’s salary at Aroma. 

“Mr Knight thought you would like to shower first.”

She’s similar to a robot, still, and lacking in any expression. Has he entered this message into her body, so he can boss me around through her?

She stares, waiting for me to free her hands. I hum timidly. I do need to wash. I stink of last night. Stale beer, mixed with the faint tone of Hugo Red. And my hair, well, I dread to think. But this is crazy. I can’t possibly get naked here.

I place my jacket over my forearm, and aversely reach out for the towels.

“Ah, Elizabeth.” 

Good god. Breathe in Liz
. He’s here, all fresh and fine, but more casual than usual. Black jeans, grey V-neck t-shirt, and Lacoste sneakers. 

“Sara,” he says, as I stand like a rabbit in headlights. “I need you to pull up the spreadsheets for the Rome division, and cancel my eleven o’clock.”

“Yes Mr Knight… would you like me to rearrange it for a later date?” Sara stands to attention.

“No, schedule a conference call for tomorrow with Mr Angelino, I’m busy today,” he adds. 

He’s staring right at me, and my skin starts to boil. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol coming out from my pores, or his presence that’s affecting me this way. Most likely both. 

“Elizabeth, I’ll speak with you soon… go grab a shower,” he says, nonchalantly.

He turns, before I have the chance to ask where my phone is, and disappears through a door at the far end of the apartment.

I remain on the spot, cradling the plush soft cotton towels. My brains mushy and I’m so damn muddled up right now. I have options. I can just leave my phone, escape through what I can only presume might be the front door. But he’s just left my airspace, and for some screwed up reason, I want him back in it. Indecisively, I head back into the bedroom.

After listening to my angel and demon, pointing out the pros and the cons of me sticking around. I sided with my demon. It wasn’t difficult. My angel wanted me to be sensible and safe, and all my demon had to do, was place the fantasy of Knight’s hands on my body in my mind. It was game over for goodness after that.

I remove my smelly clothes, and I turn on the lever in the wet-room. The jet stream emerges instantly. It’s so powerful and warm. I turn my back to the water, slanting my neck. I pour a blob of Russian Imperial into my palm, and lather it through my hair. It smells so sweet and foams perfectly. I rinse and wash away the moisturising froth, then give my panda eyes a quick scrub.

Steam floats around me as I unfold one of the massive towels. I’m not going to leave this wet-room until I’m dry and fully clothed. I rub down my top half, and towel dry my hair.

“Come on!” I grit, dancing side to side, trying to pull the skin tight dress up over my damp body.

I tidy and mop up the water the best I can. Then pick up the used towel that is now stained with my mascara. 

I look around the bedroom for a hairbrush, cautious as a cat burglar. Surly there’s a comb or something. If I had my bag, I wouldn’t have this damn problem. I open a small top drawer in a long dresser. Perfect, there is a brush, not just one, but a set of fancy hairbrushes in a red velvet case. All look brand new.

Your fury teeth Liz. 

I quickly dash to bathroom and look to the sinks. Not one toothbrush. There’s paste and mouthwash in the white cabinet, but nothing else. I can’t speak to him with rancid breath.
Oh sod it.
I squeeze a small blue blob on my finger and rub the best I can.

Okay. Now I’m as ready as I can be. He seemed pleasant enough earlier, and like he once said, he doesn’t bite. I draw in a breath as I timidly move through the wall panel.

Oh good. He’s not here. It gives me time to arrange the questions in my head. Sara trots across the floor. She smiles. It’s a strange, I know something you don’t smirk. She takes the wet towel from me between her thumb and finger, holding it at an arms-length like I’ve just wiped my ass on it.

“Mr Knight is waiting for you.” She gestures her head. “Straight on and through the door.”

Oh hell. Why does there have to be a slow walk and a door? I suck in my lip, and begin the long journey. My pulse quickens, and blood warms my cheekbones as I stare at the solid oak door ahead. My bare feet sweat, leaving nervous prints on the marble. I stop, and stand with my nose practically touching the wood. I’m so close, I can smell the varnish. I lift my hand and make a fist, but clam up.

“Elizabeth, come through,” he says, before I knock.

I hope there are no cameras observing my pathetic reaction outside this door. I quickly scour above. No camera in sight. He can probably hear my freaked out mumbling. 

I gradually pull down the handle. I tell myself not look at him. Just get in there, and close the door. I hobble through, and now I have my face against the wood again with my back to him. My chest swells out to full capacity.

“Nice view, but I’d like to see you face.” His husky tone tempts to the point of ignition.

I turn with the aim of appearing resolute, but end up a clumsy twitching mess. And now, a large bump has formed in my throat, repressing my speech. I can’t do this. I’m going to pass-out at any moment. 

He’s sat at his desk. It’s old, with a large green leather writing mat in the centre. It’s very dim in here with no windows, and only one gold down light on his desk. He sits in his green chesterfield chair, with a dainty grin, studying me over the rim of his designer frames. Even the glasses don’t mask his turbulent gaze.